


A Change in Plans

by JRA3933



Series: Necessary Changes [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-04 17:38:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15846132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JRA3933/pseuds/JRA3933
Summary: A body slid into the seat beside her just then, Margaery and Ellinor having joined the throng on the dance floor.“He said you’re ready to go?”She turned to him, smile becoming something a little more real. She’d always liked Sandor.Modern AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aspiring writer here. Please critique!

Sansa sucked hard on the straw. Her drink drained quickly, leaving her sucking in air. Sandwiched between Margaery and Elinor, she felt surrounded and claustrophobic. The air was hot and stuffy, and between all the voices, the music was reduced to a thumping beat. Margie and Elinor were chattering vivaciously, faces illuminated by the blue lights. Sansa did not join in tonight. She felt drained, and she’d barely been here an hour. Sansa felt him approach before she heard his voice, before she felt the hand on her shoulder. She pasted on her smile, turning on the chrome-plated stool.

“Hey babe. Dance?”

Joff was smiling, the polished smile he used for the cameras. She didn’t see any here, but in the dim lighting, with the gyrating mass of bodies on the floor, that hardly meant anything. There could be cameras. And that’s what mattered to him.

Sansa took his hand, and allowed him to lead her to the floor. She knew her role here- she danced well, moving her hips with his. It was a fine line she had to walk, when she was out with Joffrey. Be seductive, but classy. Desirable, but not too much so. Being a Lannister’s fiance came with a strict set of rules. Or at least, it did with Joffrey. Her dress was snug, skimming her mid-thigh, and baring her shoulders, but was very high necked.

She could see Elinor pointing her phone at them. So it was for Instagram then. Sansa turned her back to him, and continued swaying to the music, Joff’s hands settled on her hips. She could tell the moment that he was done with her, could feel it in the grip of his hands. When the song ended, he led her back to the bar, and ordered her another drink.

“Hey, you look tired. Maybe head home after this one, yeah?”

She nodded, that smile still on her lips. He left then, wending his way through the bodies on the dance floor. She waited, and sure enough her phone chimed a moment later. It had just been posted, but the comments were coming already; how good they looked together, how jealous they were of her. How lucky she was.

It was a pretty picture, if nothing else. Elinor had caught Joffrey with his head angled towards Sansa’s ear, as though he were whispering to her. The filter she’d chosen made the club look glamorous, sophisticated. If nothing else, the girl was excellent at her job. The pictures she posted made it look as though he lived a glamourous life full of parties, red carpets, and expensive looking dinners. Not that those things didn’t happen, but the camera didn’t catch Joff’s anger if Sansa wore a dress he thought was too low cut, or his bruising grip on her arm if she tried to beg off one of those parties. Or the little song and dance they went through at the end of the night, almost every time they saw each other, though that was little enough these days. At least she wouldn't have to put up with that tonight. You couldn't wear a bra with this dress.

A body slid into the seat beside her just then, Margaery and Ellinor having joined the throng on the dance floor.

“He said you’re ready to go?”

She turned to him, smile becoming something a little more real. She’d always liked Sandor.

“After this.” Sansa sipped her drink.

He spun around on his stool, facing the floor. His arms were braced on the bar behind him.

She took a sip of her drink. “Why’d you come tonight? You hate dancing.”

Sandor looked over at her, and raised the glass of whiskey in his hand. “I like drinking. And Joff always gets the good stuff.”

That was true enough. Sansa sipped at her drink, feeling a little light-headed, ‘till a raucous laugh broke through the noise of the dance floor. She looked around. Joffrey had returned. From his jerky movements, much freer than he'd been with her just before, he’d taken something. Probably in the bathroom. Ros was with him, pressed up against him as they ‘danced’. His hands were moving up and down her body. Maybe he didn't know Sansa was still here. More likely, he didn't care.

She threw back the rest of her drink, and slid to the floor, gathering up her handbag. Sandor followed her eyes, and swallowed the rest of his drink as well. He escorted her out the front door, past the line of waiting hopefuls, towards his truck.

“You’re alright to drive?” She had to walk quickly to keep up with his longer strides, heels clicking on the asphalt.

“Fine. It’d take a lot more than that.”

Sansa opened the passenger door, and laboriously climbed in. The torn vinyl of the seats squeaked under her thighs. She pulled her hair over her shoulder, raking her fingers through it while Sandor climbed into the diver’s side, seeming to fold himself in. Even in his big truck, he looked far too tall to be comfortable. Though he slouched low in his seat, his head nearly scraped the ceiling.

“Go on then.” She looked up. He’d made no move to start the engine. “Get it out.”

“I can’t believe he did that!” It bust out like water through a dam. She pulled in a shuddering gasp of air.

“He’s been fucking her for months. You have to know that.”

“I know, I know. I just-” She broke off for a moment. “I just wish he wouldn’t do it like that, in front of everyone.”

Her nose was dribbling, and she looked angrily through her clutch for a tissue. Sandor leaned across her, and opened the glove compartment, revealing a wad of paper napkins.

“Thank you.” She took one, and dabbed carefully at her eyes, before wiping her streaming nose. He was looking across at her. If it were anyone else, even Margie, Sansa would be ashamed of this little outburst. But not with him.

“I don’t have to take you home you know, if you’re not ready. I know a place-”

“Sure.” She buckled her seatbelt, and he started the engine. They sat in companionable silence while he drove. It would have shocked the Sansa of a few years ago that she would ever befriend such a man, but things had changed drastically since then. They might call him Joffrey’s ‘dog’, but only he, of all she and Joff’s mutual friends, had ever kept her confidences. With the others, things had always made their way back to him somehow. But not Sandor.

He pulled into the parking lot of a small bar, only a block or two away from Sansa’s apartment. When they entered, Sansa could see immediately that this was more of a drinking-type bar, and not a dancing bar at all. Which was completely fine with her tonight. She attracted her fair share of looks in her short dress, conspicuous amongst all the jeans, but with Sandor at her side no one approached. He tended to have that effect on people. They sat together at the bar.

The bartender sidled up to them, an older man with a wide nose and bald pate.

“Sandor! The usual?”

Sandor nodded. “Thanks, Tom.”

“And for your lady friend?” Tom looked toward Sansa with a smile.

“A vodka cranberry, please.”

He returned quickly with their drinks, sliding them across the bar.

“You can go ahead and start a tab for us.” Sandor took a long swig of his beer.

“Oh- I was going to-” Sansa rummaged in her purse, coming up with the credit card.

“Don’t.” He touched her wrist as she tried to put the card on the bar. “This is on your time, not his.”

Her cheeks burned. It was her name on the card, but it was Lannister funds which paid the bill. She slipped it back into her clutch.

“Thanks.” She sipped her drink, and shuddered slightly as it went down. Tom had made it stronger than she was used to.

“You know-” She turned to face him. “Sometimes I wonder why he keeps me around at all. I don't even really see him anymore.”

Sandor looked steadily at her. “You know why.”

And she did, really. The Lannister clan were all about appearances. If she were to marry Joffrey, it would be safe. She would make no scandals, stir up no trouble. Be Joff’s date on the red carpet, smile for the cameras. Sandor had told her so in the past, although not in so many words. She hadn’t really wanted to believe it then, but over the past few years, it had been proven over and over again. She should be glad, really, that he didn't pay much attention to her anymore, beyond texting her what events they were expected for.

She took a longer sip of her drink. The burn felt good as it slipped down her throat.

“He’s gonna be in a movie you know.” Sandor had already finished his beer, and ordered another. He looked very comfortable here, at home. She wondered how often he came in. It looked like the sort of place he might come after work, with Bronn or one of the other rough men he had worked with.

“Really? Cersei must’ve pulled something.”

“Yeah.” He took a long pull of his fresh beer. “I’ve heard him practicing, running lines. He’s fucking awful.”

She giggled, and it felt good. Finishing her drink, she ordered another. A long island iced tea this time. Sandor glanced over at her. “Do you  _ want _ me to have to carry you home?”

“Maybe.” She took another long sip. “Maybe I need to let loose a little.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” He grinned at her, scars distorting one side of his mouth.

It had been this way with him for a while- this weird pseudo flirting. It felt safe. She could make her comments, and he would reply in kind. He never expected anything more- never pushed. He did like to push with his words, finding exactly what would make her blush.

She’d been seeing more and more of him lately. She’d kept holding out at the end of the night, and it had taken two years, but Joff finally seemed to be losing interest. After a few hours of duly parading her about at whatever event they were at, he’d have Sandor bring her home. She’d taken to inviting him in after, and getting him something to eat. It was never anything fancy; reheated leftovers or a sandwich. But it seemed to make him happy. He never lingered long- word getting back to Joffrey about any familiarity between them would not have ended well.

Sansa wondered how much would change after the wedding. It was scheduled for three years from now, giving them both ample time to finish their respective degrees. They drank in silence for a few moments.

Sansa glanced over at him. “You look nice.”

He did- unusually so, actually. His usual tee-shirt had been traded for a crisp black button down. He looked as though he had actually combed his hair today.

He grunted into his mug. “Drinking and dancing aren't all bars are good for.”

“Oh.” She’d seen him take home the occasional girl. None ever stuck around, though she didn't know if he encouraged that or not.

Her phone chimed again, and she pulled it out. It was a text this time, from her mother. It began, as all of her texts did, with an “I miss you.” She wouldn’t send a reply; she hadn’t for two years now. But she read them all. Arya’s were mostly cursing at her. Bran, Rob, and Rickon’s read like updates. Once every few months they would send her long messages, talking about their lives, and asking about hers. She read them all, but only Mom’s ever made her cry. She would be alone in the house soon- with Dad gone, and Bran and Rickon in high school.

“You don't always have to go, you know.”

She glanced up at Sandor. He took a long gulp of his beer. He must think the text was from Joffrey, with the details of another event.

“You know I do.” Sansa put her phone down on the bar, and contemplated her drink. She wasn’t happier exactly, but the world seemed easier to deal with after a few drinks.

“You shouldn’t have to put up with him either.” He was staring into his drink, brow furrowed.

She grinned at him. “Why, what other options do I have?”

He didn’t grin back. Just looked steadily at her, until the smile slid off her face like water.

She took another long drink. “It’s not like he treats you any better, calling you dog, making you do stuff for him. Why do  _ you _ stick around then?”

There were a lot of replies he could make to this; he could cite Joff’s propensity for buying his friends drinks, for paying their way into expensive clubs. He could smirk, look at her, and say something about it affording him some nice views.

Instead, he looked down at the bar for a long moment, eyes avoiding hers. “Been doing it since high school. It’s easy, I guess.”

“Do you even like him anymore? Do you like any of them?”

Sandor shrugged. “No, not really.”

She studied him over the rim of her glass. “Sounds lonely.”

“S’not so bad.” He drained his mug. Of all the things he’d said tonight, only this didn’t quite ring true. “Least I’m not fucking him.”

“I’m not either.”

He looked sideways at her. “That’s not what he bloody well tells us.”

She shrugged with one shoulder. “Joff says a lot of things.”

\-----

In the end, he almost did have to carry her back. They leave his truck where it is, to be retrieved later. They must look a very strange pair- he with his scars, she stumbling along in her heels. She tripped twice, and he caught her once. Her scraped knees had begun to sting when they finally reached her apartment building.

He’d walked her to her door, waiting as she fumbled out her keys. She glanced back over her shoulder towards him.

“Come in? You can’t drive home yet anyway.” He wasn’t nearly as drunk as she, but he’d had his fair share of beers, and tumblers of whiskey.

In the small kitchen of her studio apartment, she concentrated hard. It took a few tries, but she managed a passable peanut butter and jelly sandwich for him. He sat at the breakfast bar, watching her.

They somehow wound up on the couch together, watching reruns of “Whose Line is it Anyway?”. Sansa laughed hysterically, slumped backwards over Sandor. He was sitting in the middle of her couch, and she was draped over him, the small of her back against his knees. It made her head tilt at a strange angle against the couch cushions, but that made everything all the funnier. He’d scoffed at her chosen show, but she could see the corners of his mouth twitching. She could feel crumbs from his sandwich hitting her stomach through the black dress.

It took several hours for Sansa to come down from her alcohol-induced high. She could feel it coming, and tried to hold on the giddy warmth. It slipped away anyway.

“It’ll just make it worse, you know.”

She turned her head, looking up at Sandor from her odd angle.

“What?”

“Putting it off. It’ll build him up, make him worse.”

“Maybe. It's not like he's deprived.” Sansa spent very little time, these days, thinking about the wedding and what would come afterwards.

“It’ll be even worse if it’s your first time.”

“Who ever said it would be my first time?”

He looked down at her, eyebrows raised. The audience laughed in the TV. “You told me he was your first boyfriend.”

She was blushing now. “They do make toys, you know.”

He grinned at her, slow and dirty. She liked to see that grin- it always took something out of her comfort zone to produce it. But it was worth it.

“So where would the little bird keep these toys?” He glanced towards her bedroom area, separated from the rest of the apartment with a curtain, and made as though to rise.

“ _ No! _ ” She sat up, and glared at him.

He looked far too smug, as he settled back against the cushions. She wriggled back into the couch arm, drawing her legs over him, and tucking them under herself. It took several long moments for the hot pink blush to fade.

“You could always call your fucking family, you know.” His smirk had faded. His arms were spread over the back of the couch, hands dangling.

“I know.” The Starks were not nearly as rich as the Lannisters, and prefered obscurity to the spotlight. They certainly had enough money to help her, and would be beyond willing.  But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. It was her fault she was in this mess anyway.

“Does Joff pay for all this?” Sandor gestured to her apartment. It was small, but elegantly built, in an out-of-the way part of town. She was on the top floor. The sweeping glass walls provided an excellent view of King’s Landing, glittering with light.

“No.” Sansa squirmed slightly on the couch, trying to get more comfortable. “I have a trust fund. Until I turn twenty five, it’s just monthly payments. I do the rent, the utilities. He takes care of everything else.” Joffrey Lannister’s fiance could hardly appear at any event without a new dress, after all. He’d furnished the little space, and had sent her the same school as himself. She wondered how long it had been since he’d been here. Longer than she could remember.

“How much does this place cost, anyway?” Sandor was taking in the size, she knew.

Sansa swung her legs over the edge of the couch to sit down properly. “More than it should.”

They sat in silence for a time. “What would I do? If I left?” Sansa propped her elbow on the edge of the couch, placing her chin in her hand. The majority of the fuzziness had evaporated, but enough remained to leave her tipsy. The night felt a little unreal.

He looked over at her. “I can’t bloody tell you. You’re supposed to figure that one out on your own.”

She nodded. Cersei had chosen her major for her. She didn't even like political science. “They said fashion was too ‘low-brow.’”

Sandor snorted. “What the fuck do they know? Cercei can’t even remember her own name half the time.”

Sansa giggled. Her future mother-in-law’s drinking had certainly made the monthly “family” dinners more interesting. When she wasn't focused on Sansa, anyway.

“What about you? You can't have wanted to work construction your whole life.” Sandor was the only one among Joffrey’s inner circle with no wealth or powerful family of his own. He had told her once that Joff had taken an interest in him after his brother, Gregor, had become well known.

Sandor looked fixedly at the television, eyes not following any of the movements. “Bronn said he’d recommend me at the Academy, if I wanted.” She had met Bronn, the construction worker turned police officer. He and Sandor no longer worked together, but he came around sometimes, riding with them when Sandor ferried her to and from events. He liked to tease even more than Sandor did. She thought it was mostly to needle Sandor. He always got angry when Bronn inevitably pushed things a little too far with her. She didn't mind, somehow.

“King’s Guard?” He nodded, eyes still fixed on the screen. “You’d be a great police officer! You should do it.”

“Yeah? With what money?”

“That’s what they make loans for Sandor.” He didn’t answer for a while.

“I’ve thought about it. I’d have to get a roommate though. And it would take a while, ‘cause I’d have to work.”

She smiled at him. “You wouldn’t even have to move, it’s so close.”

He nodded, slowly. “It’s getting late.”

Looking at the clock, Sansa saw that rather than late, it was getting early. “Crap! I have class in four hours.”

Sandor glanced over at her. “What class?”

“Women’s Studies.” Ros would be there. Her stomach tightened.

He snorted. “Sounds boring as fuck. Sleep in. Skip it.”

“Some feminist you are.” But she was smiling.

He rose to his feet, stretching his back. She clambered up as well, and grabbed his arm when he turned towards the door.

“Don’t go yet.”

He shrugged. “Ok. Don’t have to work ‘till Tuesday anyway.”

Sansa made them hot pockets. Three for him, and one for her. She could almost hear Joffrey’s voice in her ear. “Do you really  _ need _ that Sansa?”

They went out a few times a month, to one of King’s Landing’s many high class restaurants. Over the past year or so, her diet on these excursions had been limited to baked chicken and salads. She bit into the hot pocket, and felt the cheese explode into her mouth. It felt good. Almost as good as having Sandor here so late. A private, little rebellion. Ellinor had an apartment two floors down, but she would be asleep, and Sandor’s truck was still at the bar. Likely Joff would never know, but it felt good just the same.

She glanced over at him, chewing. She always liked to see him in these chairs, hunched in the long-legged, delicate wrought iron. He always looked like one wrong move would tip the whole thing over, and tonight was no exception.

They ate in silence. When Sansa was putting their plates into the dishwasher, blinking as the sun came up, he asked the question.

“So, what’re you gonna do?”

He must’ve felt it too. This whole night had been like a middle finger to Joffrey, whether he knew about it or not. From drinking in that pub, to having Sandor here so late, to her choice of meal.

Sansa paused, before shoving the dishwasher shut. “It won’t be so bad.” And maybe it wouldn’t. They would go to the events, as they always had. Joffrey would put her up somewhere, while he pursued his ‘work’. She would be expected to involve herself in social and charitable functions. Maybe they would let her have her own clothing line. It had been done before, it was nothing new for the spouse of a socialite. Socialite turned actor, apparently.

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” His voice was rough, angry. She didn't look at him. The sun was rising, golden and beautiful. “He won’t just leave you alone after you marry. You'd have to live together. You’d have to fuck him. Have his kids. Is that really what you want?”

She whirled then, raising her voice. “Well, what am I supposed to do?”

“Leave!” He was really shouting now, his voice echoing slightly off of the walls. “Do something you actually want to fucking do! Meet someone better than that cunt!”

He was on his feet now, and they stood staring at each other. Sansa’s face felt blank, expressionless. His was twisted and angry. She could feel the trembling in her stomach, the tension in her arms and neck. This was a precipice she was standing on, and she couldn’t see the bottom.

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

He was staring at her, surprised. She didn't think her ever really expected her to agree.

“Fine. You said-” She licked her lips. They felt very dry. “You said you needed a roommate?”

He didn’t answer. He still looked almost angry.

She took another shuddering breath. “I’ll do it if you will.”

He looked down at his hands, and sat down again. “You don’t have to do this with me.”

“Yes I do.” She couldn't do it alone. And she thought maybe he couldn't either. Besides, he was one of the only people she’d ever seen intimidate Joffrey. The  _ only _ one outside his family. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, it was a treat to see. Joff wasn’t a large man, and Sandor dwarfed large men.

He still wasn't looking at her. “You know what they’ll say. The only way it can look good for them.”

“I don’t care. That’ll only make it better.”

He looked up at her. “It’ll make it better that everyone will think you cheated on him? That you’re fucking me? You know how it’ll go.”

She did. Joffrey wasn’t exactly an A-lister himself, not quite yet. But he had his following. His most liked post was of his proposal. In the picture, they’d been having dinner at the White Tower, one of Sansa’s very favorite places. That had been back when he was still trying, hiding his true face from her. She was standing, hands pressed to her mouth, with Joffrey kneeling in front of her. Second place, of course, was taken only moments later. They’d been sitting pressed together, Sansa’s left hand extended for the camera. She twisted the ring around her finger now. Even through her fog of happiness that night, she’d thought it was a little big and gaudy for her taste.

“Exactly. It’ll be everywhere.”

“But it’s not true.”

Sansa grinned. “He doesn't know that. And Gregor won't either.” She could tell she’d said the right thing when he smirked, running a hand along his jawline, and up his ruined cheek. He always did that when talking about his brother. Sansa wondered if he noticed.

“He’s due for a visit too.”

She looked sharply over at him. “What do you mean? I thought you hadn't seen him since-”

“Not really. I slam the door in his face. When I open it at all. But it’s good press for him. That’s how I know when he’s coming, whenever his ratings dip.” She’d seen an article once- an old school picture of Sandor had graced the first page, beside a current shot of his brother. Joffrey had been happy, crowing about it. Sandor had been quiet for weeks.

Looking at the picture, Sansa had thought that Gregor was the biggest man she'd ever seen, and she’d known Sandor for two years. He’d caught her reading his Wikipedia page when he was driving her home one night. She'd never seen him so angry, and it frightened her a little, even though she knew it wasn't directed towards her. He’d told her about his scars that night, confirming the rumors on the webpage. His father, Sandor had said, had covered the whole thing up, or tried to. Gregor was already being scouted.

“How’s that good?”

He grimaced. “Good for his image. They always drag up old rumours when he tries to see me.” He gestured towards his face. “You know how it is in the WWE.”

She didn't really, but she gathered he was one of the ‘bad’ ones. Though in his case, they didn't need to make anything up.

“So?” Her bare feet curled up on the cool, hardwood floor, heels having been long abandoned.

He looked at her for a moment, and nodded.

She squealed, and felt a grin spread across her face. She felt lighter than she had in years.

The corners of Sandor’s mouth twitched, and he got to his feet. “Let’s get your things then.”

Sansa’s startled. “What, now? I’m not-”

“Ready, I know. And I don't have anything ready for you. But if you’re actually gonna do this, it has to be now.”

She knew he was right. She’d lose her nerve otherwise, if she were faced with Joff again. It didn’t take long. It really drove home how little in this apartment she actually owned. Most of the shoes, the handbags, Joffrey had bought her, and she wouldn’t bring anything  _ he’d _ purchased with her. All the furniture was out, and most of her best dresses. But not her favorites. She’d never told anyone, least of all Joffrey, but she’d taken to frequenting the city’s thrift stores. She would buy dresses, skirts, and blouses, tailoring and altering them. The dress she was wearing was a perfect example. She’d removed the sleeves and hemmed it up, in edition to the usual tailoring.

All these clothes, along with the ones she'd brought from home, were stuffed unceremoniously into her two suitcases and a duffle. She performed the same exercises with her sewing supplies, shoes, and books. She left her school things behind. They’d been expensive, but she hadn't bought them. Her hair things and makeup were also duly abandoned.

“Ready?” Sandor’s standing by the door, carrying three of her bags.

“Almost.” Sansa shoved her feet into her last remaining pair of shoes, sturdy running sneakers. She struggled up to him, stomping her feet more firmly into the sneakers, and shouldering her last bag, hauling her sewing machine along in its case.

She stopped at the little kitchen, and removed her ring. She thought for a moment about throwing it, but instead placed it carefully on her black stone counter. It was the first thing anyone would see, upon entering. Joff had a key somewhere. She turned towards the door, before remembering. Juggling her bags, she dug in the clutch hanging from her wrist. The glossy gold credit card joined the ring on the counter.

It was a quiet ride down in the elevator. It seemed almost dream-like to Sansa, to be here, doing this. With him. With a quiet ding, the elevator let them off on the ground floor. It was really morning now. On a normal day, Sansa would be leaving for school, hurrying to catch the bus. Joff had offered her a driver, but she’d turned him down. She liked taking the bus, looking at the other people.

They almost plowed into Elinor in the lobby. She had stopped herself just in time, as Elinor was emerging from the other elevator. The girl was wearing a crisp white sundress, dark hair pulled up into a perky-looking ponytail. Looking up from her phone, her pink-lipsticked mouth gaped open at the sight of them. Sansa knew what she was saw- Sandor with her, both in the clothes from the night before. Sansa’s makeup had not been removed, and was slightly smeared. Elinor’s eyes passed over the bags they were carrying, before they dropped to Sansa’s knees. The scrapes there suddenly felt very conspicuous. She wished her dress were longer.

Sansa didn't know what to say, was suppressing the urge to explain, when Sandor dropped an arm around her shoulders. In the end, neither said anything. Sandor just smirked at Elinor for a moment, before drawing Sansa outside with him. The air was crisp and bright as they made the short walk to Sandor’s truck, and Sansa suddenly had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Giggles slipped out anyway, and Sandor looked down at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Soon enough, he was laughing too. He didn’t remove his arm from her shoulders.


	2. Chapter 2

It’d been too long since she’d slept, but rather than feeling dragged down by it, Sansa felt invigorated somehow. As though the world were a little sharper today, a little brighter. Or maybe that was because she was free now. She felt her lips curl up into a smile. As she bucked her seatbelt, Sandor shut the door to the backseat, and slid into the driver’s side, cursing under his breath as he bumped his head on the ceiling. Sansa glanced into the back. He’d piled her bags on the floor and seats somewhat haphazardly, but he’d actually belted her sewing machine in, so that was all right.

He looked over at her now. “You ready?”

She nodded. The smile hadn’t left her face, and Sandor didn’t look too displeased himself as he started the truck. Sansa’s phone vibrated in her lap, and she looked down to see Joffrey’s name appear on the screen. Of course, it wouldn't be as easy as just walking away. Joff would make sure of that.

Sandor glanced over at her as the phone continued to buzz, but Sansa ignored it, and looked out the window. After, her phone started to chime, but she ignored that too.

“You’ll have to talk to him eventually.”

Sansa looked over at him. “I don’t have to anymore. Besides, I’m busy.”

Idling at a traffic light, he eyed her. “Busy?”

She examined her nails. “Busy.”

He hummed in response, lips twitching into that half smile. As the light turned green, his own phone began to ring. Huffing, he dug it out of his pocket, ignoring the angry beeps behind him. He stepped on the gas as he brought it to his ear.

“Yeah?”

Sansa couldn’t hear what he said exactly, but she could feel the venom behind the buzz of muffled words. Sandor let him go on for a moment, before cutting him off abruptly.

“Yeah, she can’t talk now.” He glanced over at her. “We’re busy.”

He ended the call, tossing the phone into the back seat. “Cunt.”

Sansa laughed then, leaning her head back against the seat. She couldn’t remember when she’d last laughed like this, and it felt good. When the last few giggles died away, she tilted her head to look at Sandor.

“I’ve never been to your place.”

He shrugged. “Nothing special.”

She smiled. “It’ll be home, though.” She wondered if it was as strange for him to hear it as it was for her to say it. It would be nice to have a home. She’d liked her studio apartment well enough, but it’d never felt like a home.

They drove in silence for a few minutes, and Sansa watched the buildings passing outside, and the people on the sidewalk. She wondered where that man was going, the one fixing his hair in the reflection of the glass store front. A date maybe, with someone he badly wanted to impress judging by the suit. And the elderly woman cooing over the children’s books could be buying a present for a grandchild. Their phones vibrated intermittently, but both Sansa and Sandor ignored them.

“I don’t have anything ready. Don't even have another bed. Or much food, actually.” Sandor’s deep voice sounded loud to her ears, despite the rumble of the engine.

“You have a couch?” He nodded. “That’ll do until I can find something better. And we can stop, if you want. I can get us some groceries. As a sort of present, since this is all happening so quickly.”

“I don't mind, you know.” But he pulled up to a grocery store anyway. The place was almost empty at this hour, and Sansa was glad for it. She knew she looked a mess, with her smudged makeup, and the jogging shoes paired with her short dress. Sandor watched as she wheeled a cart determinedly down the first aisle, looking at bread.

“I can do half, if you want.” She shook her head. “I have some money left over. And like I said; it’s a present.” She’d been planning to use the money to buy some fabrics, to try and make her first dress from scratch. But he didn’t need to know that. She grabbed some peanut butter and jelly, thinking of that sandwich only a few hours ago. Maybe she should've brought her food. She had paid for that after all.

They made their was slowly through produce, past the meats, and through the dairy section. Sansa studiously avoided looking at Sandor, who she knew was watching her. She’d never had to compare prices before, but she guessed it would be best to start now. For the most part, Sandor was quiet, only occasionally pointing her to one product over another, sometimes due to taste, and sometimes for price. At the checkout, she swiped her debit card before she turned to him.

“How does it usually work? With roommates, and food?”

He shrugged. “Hell if I know.”

“Haven't you ever-” He shook his head before she finished the thought. “I like my space, and I could afford it, so no.”

“Oh.” She took the receipt from the blandly smiling cashier, who seemed to be studiously avoiding glancing at Sandor. Sansa wondered what they looked like together. They might start being recognized in a few days, if Cercei did as they expected. Sansa had been photographed too often with Joffrey to avoid recognition, she thought. And Sandor- well, nothing would disguise his size or scarring. Together they would be impossible to miss. The thought excited her, somehow.

“Elinor and Megga, they each get shelves. In the fridge and pantries.” Sandor grunted noncommittally. “I think that’s silly,” she continued, “They’re always arguing about who drank who’s milk, or one borrows cheese without asking, or something like that. We should just alternate, after this. Or go together, and split it.” She nodded decisively, and looked to Sandor as she pushed the cart towards his truck. He opened the door, and took the heaviest bags from her to put in as he replied. “That works.”

They had to wedge a few bags in under Sansa’s feet, but everything fit. She’d left her phone in the car, all the better to ignore the intermittent buzzing, and it vibrated again when she shifted it onto her lap. She couldn’t help but glance at the first few words of the text, and she winced. Ducking into the cab, Sandor saw the phone in her hands.

“Don’t read them. It won’t help anything.” She turned it face down on her lap. “Should I block him?”

Sandor started the engine. “You could. It’s up to you. But I’d let him squirm.” Sansa smiled, and felt the phone vibrate against her thigh. Joff didn’t like being ignored.

Sandor lived closer than she’d thought, only about twenty minutes from her (now former) apartment. Both he and Sansa grasping several bags apiece, Sandor led the way into the small, square apartment building. The apartment itself was on the first floor, and Sandor let them in. Sansa walked into the kitchen, and put the groceries on the counter with a sigh of relief. Sandor followed suit.

“Go ahead and put these away. I’ll grab your bags.” He ducked out again, leaving Sansa alone. She glanced around, taking in what she could see of the place. It was not spacious, certainly, but much larger than what she was used to. She thought anyone entering would be able to tell immediately that a man lived here alone. The kitchen opened to a small living room, containing only a small table and chairs, a large sofa, a battered end table, and a flat screen TV mounted to the wall. The television looked like the only thing that was anywhere near new. The furniture looked cheap, but everything was scrupulously clean. On the far wall, a small hallway looked to have three more doors leading off. It was all very spartan-looking; with little in the way of personal touches, let alone attempts at decoration.

Sansa opened the fridge, and became immediately glad that they’d stopped at the store. From the look of it, his fresh food consisted of a half-empty bottle of ketchup, a few cans of beer, and some half eaten takeout. The groceries didn’t fill the fridge by far, but it made it look slightly more respectable. Sandor returned then, carrying most of her bags.

“Told you there wasn't much.” She closed the fridge as he put her bags down by the couch. On his way back towards the door, he opened a couple of cabinets, revealing significantly more food than the refrigerator had held. “You can use these if you want- I don't care.”

Sansa didn't think much of what she saw, mainly ramen and potato flakes, but she supposed it explained why he’d liked her leftovers so much. He at least appeared to have a good amount of spices. He came back in then, carrying the last of her things.

“So?” Sansa put her hands on her hips.

He looked back at her. “So… What?”

She grinned at him, feeling a little loopy from lack of sleep. “Do I get the grand tour?”

He rolled his eyes. “Sure.” He mockingly offered his arm, and she graciously accepted. They stepped towards the hallway, Sandor pausing to exaggeratedly point out the TV, the sofa, the remote, and the coffee mug he’d left out the previous day. It all felt much funnier than it should have, and Sansa started giggling as he showed her the bathroom, demonstrating the toilet’s flush and the faucet’s heating capabilities. She wondered if all this felt as unreal to him as it did to her. She wondered if she wasn’t still a little drunk.

As they exited the bathroom, she gestured to the half open door, through which she could see the edge of a large bed. “Included in the tour?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Why, do you want it to be?”

She felt her face heat a little. “A partial tour then.”

He shook his head, but pushed the door open. Most of the small room was taken up by the bed, but everything here was, if possible, even neater than the rest of the house. No dirty clothes, closet door shut, and sheets pulled tightly up on the bed. Sansa stepped a little further in. “Is it always this clean?” In her own space, there had always been something out of place. A pair of pajamas thrown over the end of the bed, a rumpled sheet, socks on the floor- something.

He shook his head. “I thought I might have company last night. Just didn’t expect this.”

“Oh.” Sansa glanced at his shirt. The sleeves were rolled up, and the buttons at his neck weren’t done up. She wondered if she ought to apologize for taking him from his potential company, but decided against it. Instead, she turned towards the dresser, where she could see one of the only bits of personality. She sorted through the stacks of movies, and looked towards Sandor. “You like John Wayne then?”

“They’re classics.” He crossed his arms over his chest, looking a little defensive.

“I never said there was anything wrong with them.” She turned back to the dresser, and exchanged the two movies in her hands for two more, flipping them over to see the back. “My father-” She swallowed, and continued in a softer voice. “Dad. He used to like these kinds of movies.”

Sansa heard him shift behind her. “D’you want to watch one?”

She nodded. “Sure.” She chose a movie at random, and they exited the room. She turned as Sandor shut the door after them. “Oh! Is that where-” She was pointing towards the last closed door, the one area she hadn't seen.

“Oh, yeah. That’s where you’ll be.” He pushed open the door, revealing a mismatched set of workout equipment. “I’ll get that out of there tomorrow, and we can get you some proper stuff.”

The room was not large, but she didn’t need much space. It wasn’t as though she was bringing much with her. The closet looked empty, which was something.

Back in the living room, Sansa sat curled on the couch, arms wrapped around her knees. Sandor was kneeling in front of it, getting the movie started. “Do you think Joffrey will come here?”

“Joffrey?” He glanced up at her. “No. He might send someone, but he wouldn’t come. Not while I’m here anyway.” That made Sansa smile. He was right, of course. Sandor could be intimidating when he wanted. Sansa had seen him yell, curse, even punch a wall, but that wasn’t what he used on Joffrey. He’d been shouting at her once, about a year ago now. They'd been at a premiere for a movie that the Lannisters something to do with somehow, and Sansa had asked to skip the afterparty. Not that she would have had to stay long, but she’d had cramps and felt rather nauseous.

When she’d asked if he minded if she went home early, it’d been in front of the director and his wife. Joff had played his part, had run a hand down her arm, smiled, and said of course he didn’t mind, a friend was in town and would drive her home. They’d been engaged about six months. He’d walked her to the door, and took her around back to wait. It’d started then. First the shouting, then the painful grip on her arm, one she knew would leave bruises. The sun was setting behind him, and she kept her eyes fixed on that, over his shoulder. He didn't like that. He never liked when she didn’t look at him. He’d pushed her against the building, and smacked her hard across the face.

Neither had heard Sandor’s truck, but he was suddenly there, looming over the pair of them. He hadn't shouted, hadn’t so much as clenched a fist. Somehow, without saying or doing anything, he’d managed to convey a threat of imminent violence, with the way he’d looked at Joffrey. Maybe it was just his sheer size, and how close he was standing. Sandor was a good foot and a half taller than Sansa, and she had a few inches on her then-fiance. Joffrey had let go of her arm, slowly, and Sandor had herded her into the truck. She didn’t know how he’d managed it, but after that, Sandor was almost always the one picking her up. Joff had always alternated before, between him, Boros, Meryn, or Ayrs. But however he’d done it, she appreciated it. Joff had never hit her in front of Sandor again.

With the movie started, Sandor joined Sansa on the couch. She watched the black and white figures move across the screen. The villain was introduced, looking suitably villainous. Sansa wished they all looked like that in real life. It would make them easier to avoid. She glanced sideways at Sandor. Despite all they'd drunk last night, he’d fetched a beer from the fridge, and was sipping it slowly as he watched the movie. She wondered if the boundaries would be different now, with the both of them suitably separated from Joff and the rest. If he would be different. Sansa didn't know exactly if she wanted him to be.

Before she could think about it too much, she laid her head on his shoulder, not looking at him. They were firing shots already, in the movie. It was too early for the villian to bite the dust, but his henchmen could. For a few long beats, Sandor did nothing. Then he shifted, and she felt his arm settle around her, hand curled over her hip. He was very warm, where she pressed against his side.

 

\----------

 

Somebody was shaking her gently, the warmth pulling away slightly. Sansa protested, pressing her face back into its makeshift pillow. She thought she heard a slight rumble, like a laugh, before the warmth pulled away altogether. She pitched over sideways, into the arm of the couch. Blinking, Sansa looked up, squinting at the light coming through the window. It ought to be darker, she thought. She watched as Sandor moved down the hall, disappearing into the his bedroom.

When he reappeared, bearing an armboard of bedding, Sansa had regained enough presence of mind to get up and help him arrange the sheets and blankets over the couch. She thought briefly of a change of clothes and a shower, but didn’t feel like navigating a strange shower when she was this tired. She crawled under the blankets, and pressed her face into the pillow. She felt a hand caress the top of her head. It was a soothing touch, and gone too quickly.

 

\----------

 

Sansa woke early the next morning, to Sandor sitting at the table and eating a small mountain of scrambled eggs. She sat up, pushing the hair out of her eyes. Sandor swallowed a mouthful, and pointed to his plate. “Want some? I can make more.”

Wrinkling her nose, Sansa shook her head. What she wanted, more than anything right now, was a hot shower and to brush her teeth. Rummaging in her bags, she pulled out her toiletries and a fresh outfit. Realizing her dress had ridden up, Sansa smoothed it over her thighs, glancing at Sandor. He wasn’t looking at her, was staring fixedly at his food.

The shower was hot, and it felt good to scrub away the remnants of her makeup, and afterwards, rid the bad taste from her mouth. Dressed simply in jeans and her favorite blouse, Sansa felt fresher, ready to face the day. She joined Sandor at the table. The shower had revived her appetite, and she soon rose again, walking into the kitchen. Sandor watched her pull everything out.

She glanced back at him. “You have sugar? Syrup?”

“Yeah. By the coffee pot, and top shelf of the cabinet to your left. Why?”

Sansa found a bowl the right size. “I thought I’d make french toast.”

“Really? Awesome.” She looked at him. “Didn’t you just eat?”

He took a swallow of coffee. “So? Want some by the way?” He tipped his mug towards her.

“Maybe in a bit. I’ll need to eat first.” Sansa made what she considered to be quite a large batch, but she was hungrier than she’d expected. Between herself and Sandor, it all quickly disappeared.

“So.” Sansa looked over at Sandor. He was washing the dishes by hand, his apartment having no dishwasher. “We never really talked about rent. What did you have in mind?” Sandor certainly must have been thinking about it, because he named a sum quickly enough. “Oh.” Sansa’s eyes widened slightly. Sandor put the last dish in the rack, and quickly put in, “That’s half my rent, plus some extra for bills.”

“No, no, it's fine. I just mean- that’s it?” She would have more money left over each month than she’d thought. His eyes narrowed. “How much were you paying for that other place?”

She primly clasped her hands in front of her. “That’s none of your business.” He just shook his head. “You should call your landlord- tell him you’re out. You don’t have a lease do you?” She shook her head. “I’ll tell him-” she grinned. “I’ll give him Joff’s number. They can call him to get his things.”

Sandor chuckled at the thought. “They haven't said anything yet have they? The Lannisters I mean. Nothing on the news.” His hand was tracing his scars. Sansa dug her phone from between the sheets on the couch, and checked Joff’s instagram, ignoring the numerous unread texts. It was as it had been before- the last picture was of the two of them dancing. “Nothing yet.”

He shrugged. “It won't be long. He’s got a party tomorrow, he said. They’ll ask about you.”

She hummed noncommittally. “So. What do we do today?”

“Today, we get you settled in.”

As it turned out, there wasn't really much to do. Sandor heaved his weights and equipment out of the little room, with much groaning and complaining. Sansa arranged what could be hung in the little closet, leaving the remainder of her things in her bag. The room felt even more bare than before, with only her bags to take up space. It made her feel rather bereft, actually, to have so little in the world that actually belonged to her. She hurriedly moved back into the living room, trying to shake off the feeling. It took a little time to rearrange the furniture to properly accommodate the workout equipment jammed into a corner.

“I was thinking-” Sansa wiped her wrist across her forehead. The weights had been very heavy. She could barely shift them, let alone imagine working out with them. A real shame that. She wouldn't have a gym membership anymore. “Mattresses are expensive. I can do without other stuff, but I need a bed. Do you have any ideas?”

Sandor sat on the couch, thinking. “You don't want anything used.” Sansa wrinkled her nose at the thought. “You could get something sort of temporary. Futons are cheap. You could get the sort that folds into a couch, and use it like that when you can get something real.”

Sansa nodded. “That sounds perfect, actually. Do you have anywhere to be today? There’s no way I’m getting one of those home on the bus.” She stumbled a little over the word ‘home’, but Sandor didn’t seem to notice. “No, little bird, I’ve got nowhere to be. I don’t have friends anymore, remember?” He didn’t seem too upset by it.

“Me either. And they weren't really our friends, anyway.” Most of them. Sansa would miss Margaery, and her cousin Megga, but there was little love lost for the rest of them. They headed out, Sandor locking the door behind them. It was early, even by Sansa’s standards. Sandor seemed to know where he was going, driving the pair of them directly to a small furniture store. “It’s where I got my stuff,” He explained as they exited the truck. “They have used, but they have some new too. I saw those couch things when I got my table, that’s what made me think of it.”

The bell made a tinkling noise when they went in, and the pretty blonde girl at the counter greeted them with a smile. Sansa wondered if she’d seen Sandor here before- most people flinched, or reacted in some way when they saw his face.

There wasn't much selection, but Sansa was reasonably happy with the couch, a royal blue color. It would be harder than the mattress she was used to, but she could live with that. It was a small price to pay. They declined delivery service, carrying it to the truck. First the futon itself, then the frame. Sansa had seen a little white table inside, just the right height for sewing. But even used, she thought it was beyond her budget right now, after the groceries and the futon. It was only a few days ‘till the start of the next month, and her automatic trust fund payment. She could come back.

When they were back in the van, Sandor started the engine, but Sansa put a hand on his arm before he shifted gears. “I thought-” She was suddenly nervous, a fluttering feeling high in her stomach. “There’s an ice cream place near here. I’ve been before, they’re really good. They make it themselves.” She was babbling a little, speaking too quickly. She closed her mouth firmly, and waited with baited breath.

“Sure. Where is it?” Sansa grinned. “Corner of Crystal Street.”

It was quiet in there, still early. The little tables were empty, meaning they can take their sundaes to a prime spot, the only booth right by the windows. Sandor groaned a little when he took his first bite.

“I told you they were good!” Sansa patted the space beside her. He just looked at her as he took another bite, glancing down at her untouched ice cream. “If you don't want it, I’ll take it.”

“Just come here.” He didn’t move for a moment, before coming over, taking his sundae with him. They were pressed together, hip to thigh under the table. Sansa pulled out her phone, opening the camera.

“What’re you doing?” He pull another bite in his mouth, chewing with his eyes closed.

“I was thinking this morning. We know what we think Cersei will do. We don’t know what she’ll do. Or what Joff will do.” Definitely not that. He wasn't predictable when he was angry. “But we know what we want to happen. Why not push it along a bit? Alot of Joff’s ‘fans’-” She made air quotes here, ”-followed me too when we got engaged.” She held up the phone.

He nodded, and slung an arm around her shoulders, fingers trailing down her side, leaving warm trails behind. “Smile!” He did not smile, but instead dug his fingers into her side, making her laugh as the camera went off.

“Sandor! It’ll be blurry, I’ll have to take another now.” She opened it to look- surprisingly enough, it was not blurry in the slightest. She was laughing, eyes squinched shut, head tilted against Sandor’s stubbly jaw. He wasn't smiling, but his eyes looked soft as he looked down at her. “I’m too pale. I wish I had some makeup.”

He snorted. “You look fine- like how you looked in the beginning, before all the premiers and shit. You look happy.” She did look happy, in the picture. She was happy now. No more need for fake smiles, or using her makeup like a shield, to protect someone else’s image. On impulse, she raised the phone again and wrapped an arm around Sandor’s neck, pulling him down (or more accurately, pulling herself up), to press a kiss against his cheek, snapping a picture at the same time. She grinned at the result. He looked surprised, staring down at her. Going through the familiar motions of Instagram, she looked up towards Sandor.

“Ready?” He looked at the pictures, the corners of his mouth twitching. He nodded, and she posted, feeling as though she were pulling a trigger.

 

\----------

 

Later that night, tucked into her new ‘bed’, Sansa stared at the ceiling. They’d come straight home after the ice cream. Neither she nor Sandor had checked any news. Not that it would be a big story- at least, Sansa didn’t think so. But any small mention would be good enough for her. She pulled the scratchy blanket over her head, and grinned at the thought- She could just picture Joffrey reading about it, his face going red the way it did when he was angry. And he couldn't do anything- with no money to bind her to him, with her independant, there'd be no guarantee of her silence. With Sandor around, he wouldn't try anything on her anyway. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that. As satisfying as it would be to watch, the Lannisters would and could press charges if it came to blows. She and Sandor didn’t have that kind of money.

He would be working in the morning, they’d called and asked him to come in and work an extra day. It went unsaid, Sansa hoped, that he could use all the extra money he could get now. He’d told her over dinner- a frozen pizza and caesar salad. She’d eaten most of the salad, and he most of the pizza, but they'd both come away satisfied. He’d looked up at her over his last slice.

“Look- this might sound fucking stupid, but I don't want you going out alone tomorrow. He’ll have seen it, and he’ll be pissed. Might try something dumb.”

She’d nodded. “That’s fine. I could use a day in anyway. I don't have classes until the day after tomorrow. And besides- it can’t hurt to let Joff cool down for a while. I might see him there.”

Her phone had continued to buzz every now and then. No more calls or texts from Joffrey- he’d gone quiet. Sansa thought maybe Cersei had gotten to him, talked him down. But Margie had texted, Mega and Elinor too. She’d even seen a text from Ros. That last had made her lip curl, but she hadn't read any of them, let alone replied.

She laid back, squirming a little against the futon. She was right that it was harder than she was used to, and Sandor’s sheets were scratchy against her bare arms. But both felt right somehow.

 

\----------

 

She woke just before Sandor left. She padded into the kitchen, and pushed herself up onto the counter, watching as he finished his coffee.

“When will you be back?” Sansa’s hair was puffed out around her head, half of it escaping from the braid she’d slept in.

“I get out at five, so maybe half past.” He put his mug in the sink, glancing at the clock, and not bothering to wash it.

“I’ll do dinner tonight.” She knew he liked chicken, and lemon chicken was one of her favorites. She’d gotten everything she needed for that particular dish when they’d stopped at the store, and she was sure she could figure out something else to go with.

“You don’t have to you know.” Sandor was putting his phone in his pocket, keys in hand.

“I know.” Sansa hesitated, before scooting off the counter and approaching him. Standing on her toes, she kissed his cheek, the same place she had yesterday. The scars felt rough under her lips. Heart beating fast, she retreated to the couch, and sat on it, back to him. He didn’t move as she fumbled for the remote. As the television came to life, she heard him exit the apartment. She knew he was gone, but once the door closed behind him, she looked back anyway.

The weather report was on, and she stared blankly at it for a while, before giving up and shutting it off. The apartment seemed very empty without Sandor in it. But no matter. She had some things to do.

The landlord was easy. She’d paid the first and last month’s rent when she’d moved in, so the place was technically hers for another month. Not that she’d be going back there, with Elinor only two floors down. Even with Sandor beside her, she wouldn’t chance a confrontation with Joffrey. He might not come here, to Sandor’s ‘territory’ so to speak. But in that apartment, surrounded by things he’d bought her? Yes, absolutely he would come if he thought he could corner her. And she had everything she wanted from there anyway. She told Eric, the landlord, that anything not removed by the end of the following month could be donated, or kept as part of the apartment for all she cared.

After she hung up, Sansa hesitated. She wasn’t ready to read the texts, not yet, but she hadn’t checked her Instagram since she’d posted the images of herself and Sandor. She opened the app with some trepidation, but it was better than she’d expected. There was some hate, but not much. Mostly confusion, a lot of question marks, and “I thought you were with Joffrey”s. A lot of people had commented though. So, many had seen it. Good. She thought she might Google her name, but not yet. Maybe tonight, with Sandor.

She had someone else to call now. The phone rang for long enough that she thought she’d have to try again later. But then the ringing stopped. For a moment, there was nothing but silence on the other end. Then it came:

“Sansa-” The voice was soft, shaking a little.

Sansa smiled into the phone, aware that her own lips were trembling. “Hi Mom.”


	3. Chapter 3

 

Sansa was sitting up, wearing her old blue robe, when Sandor came home. It was later than she’d thought, but she found that she didn’t mind that. Or that, judging by the wrinkled paper bag in his hand, he’d forgotten her promise to cook dinner. He dropped heavily to the couch next to her, toeing off his boots. He held out the bag to her, and she caught a whiff of his breath.

 

She wrinkled her nose. “Did you drive home?” At his nod, she shook her head. “You want to be a  _ police officer _ .”

 

“So? Not one yet, am I? I didn't really have much anyway.” He shook the bag at her again. She glanced down, and saw that it was full of burgers, fries, and the like. She’d already eaten, but she took a bag of fries anyway.

 

“Good day?”

 

“Yeah. Got drinks with Bronn.” Sandor spoke around a mouthful of burger. She watched him chew for a moment before speaking again.

 

“I called my mom today.” He looked up, and swallowed. “Yeah? How’d it go?” Sansa reached behind her for her mug of tea and sipped it slowly. How could she say, how could she communicate the warm feeling spreading through her stomach at the memory of her mother’s voice on the phone?

 

“Good.” She couldn’t help a small grin into her mug. “Rickon was there, I got to talk to him. Bran too. And Robb called later. He’s getting married, I can’t believe it.” Sandor’s hand found her knee, squeezing in silent encouragement. It was a crime, she thought, that he couldn’t have that with anyone. He hadn’t seen his father since high school, he’d told her, and his brother- well.

 

“Arya’s been emailing, she’s in her last year at school.  _ Military _ school. No phones allowed. But they’re all coming down next week, to see me.”

 

She grinned at Sandor. “Arya threatened to kill me in her first email, for making Mom worry for so long. And you too, in her second one.”

 

Sandor seemed to inhale a handful of fries “What’d I do?”

 

Sansa shrugged. “She just thinks it’s a little soon after Joffrey. She thinks you could be taking advantage of me.”

 

Sandor looked down at her. “Should I be worried? Your little sister gonna to murder me?”

 

Sansa giggled. “She was almost a foot shorter than me, when I last saw her. Of course, she’s been in military school. So who knows.

 

Sandor grunted next to her, sounding decidedly unimpressed. “They didn’t want you to come back with them?”

 

“Of course they did. But I said no. I said I wanted to stay here.” She looked up at Sandor, smiling. His face was inscrutable. “I can clear off for a few days, if you want. Give you some time when they come.”

 

Sansa scoffed at the idea, leaning into the warmth of his side. “Don’t be stupid. They want to meet you.” He was still against her. 

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” She tipped her head onto his shoulder. His t-shirt smelled like home. He put a finger under her chin, forcing her to raise her head, meet his eyes. “What exactly did you tell them. About me.”

 

“I said that we’re taking things slowly.” She pulled her head away from his finger, but didn’t move away on the couch. “They’re bringing me some of my old things, that I left there. I’ll have a bed, anyway.”

 

He picked up his burger again, and let her lean into him, let her rest her head on his shoulder again.

 

“I also wanted to say- I think I’ll go to the college tomorrow, to drop out properly.” Sandor looked at her again, and she thought she knew what he was thinking. “I’m under the Lannisters right now, for tuition. And I wanted to switch majors anyway. I can cut ties properly, then figure out what I want to do. It’s early enough in the semester, they’ll get a refund for my classes.”

 

He shrugged eyes returning to his food. “I’ll take you after work. I don’t get out too late.”

 

“For the college, you do. The offices all close early. Besides- I was thinking. I can’t hide forever. I want to go out, do it by myself.” He watched her for a long moment. Then, he nodded.

 

\------

 

It was only the college. She’d been there more times than she could count in the last few years. It was  _ only the college. _ So why was she sitting here, across the street, unable to go in.

 

She sipped at her coffee nervously. She didn’t usually drink the stuff, but today was a special case. The doughnut in the bag had been all but forgotten, but she ate it now, taking small bites. Joff would have wrinkled his nose, and asked her did she  _ really need- _ she took a bigger bite, washing it down with a sip of coffee. 

 

It was only the college. She knew she looked alright. The boy on the bus had smiled at her, no recognition in his eyes. She’d just been a pretty girl on a bus to him. Still, it had taken her too long to dress this morning. She hadn’t been all that sure what impression she’d wanted to make. Her jeans were neutral, unobtrusive, as were her dark flats. Her button down shirt was nothing special, but she’d tied it in such a way that it revealed a strip of skin at  her waist, just above her jeans. The bright scarf in her hair and the large hoop earrings asked to be looked at. But she wore no makeup. She’d bought some this morning, but as soon as she’d put it on, she found herself scrubbing it off again.

 

It was only the college. Squaring her shoulders, Sansa balled the paper bag up, tossed it in a bin, and crossed the street, clutching the paper coffee cup in her hands. The warmth seemed to ground her. The bravado it had taken to enter the square building seemed silly once inside. She’d waited in line, and the bored woman beside the desk had helped her fill out the papers. She had signed, and just like that, her last tie to the Lannisters was gone. She took the change of major papers with her, to look at later. Before, she might’ve sat down at any of the little tables or comfortable nooks scattered around campus. But now was not before. She was not eager to run into anyone she knew.

 

Despite her hurry to leave, she felt a hand on her shoulder as she paused to cross the street. She turned abruptly, only to see Margaery. The girl must have run all the way from the school gym down the street. She was panting, cheeks flushed. Her hair was pulled back, stuffed under a baseball cap, and she was wearing yoga pants and a loose t-shirt. She wasn't wearing a scrap of makeup, one of the only times Sansa had seen her barefaced.

 

“Sansa.” Margaery pressed a palm flat against her stomach, gasping for breath, and she put a hand to Sansa’s shoulder again. “We should talk. Please.”

 

With only a brief hesitation, Sansa followed the other girl a ways down the street before settling on an out of the way bench. As she caught her breath, Margaery seemed to regain some the effortless composure she always wore like a second skin. She smiled at Sansa, crossing her ankles, and setting her interlocked hands on her knee.

 

“How  _ are _ you? You didn’t answer any of my texts.”

 

“I haven't answered anybody’s texts,” Sanda replied. “I just- just needed a few days. To settle down.”

 

Margaery raised an eyebrow. “But Sansa. The  _ Hound _ ?”

 

“Don’t call him that. His name’s Sandor.” Sansa couldn’t keep some of the snap from her voice.

 

“Sorry.” Margaery didn’t look sorry at all. “He just always seemed so rough.”

 

“He can be. But you don't know him. He’s better than Joffrey ever could be.” Sansa could hear the challenge in her own voice, and tried to bite it back. “I mean- that’s not right. He’s good, all on his own. It’s not a comparison thing.” She forced up a smile. “I always liked him.”

 

“I could tell.” Margaery suddenly reached out, taking Sansa’s hands in hers. “I don’t mean to be rude. I’m glad you’ve left him, I am. I could see how hard it was on you. How hard Joff was on you.”

 

“I’ve missed you, Margie.” And she had. Margaery was a difficult girl to be friends with, but she had always had a smile or a quip ready to make Sansa brighten. She leaned forward, and pulled the shorter girl into a hug. She smelled like oranges, as she always had. She pulled away. “I wanted to ask-” Sansa pulled Margaery’s hand up towards them. She made no resistance.

 

The ring sparkled on her finger, larger and more vulgar than even Sansa’s had been. She thought she could see Margaery’s influence in the smaller stones gathered around the large centerpiece of the ring.

 

“Why? How  _ could  _ you?” Sansa trusted that the other girl knew enough about her relationship with her ex-fiance to know what she was asking, and why.

 

“Well, he asked. The other day.” Margaery smoothed loose strands of hair behind her ear. “And I want to be an actress.”

 

“You  _ know _ what he is.”

 

“Yes.” Margaery smiled her sharp smile. “And he knows that I know. We might pretend I don’t, but we both know.” Her smile softened a bit. “Joff wanted to go to dinner tonight, show off a bit. I just wanted you to find out from me.”

 

“Thanks.” Sansa grimaced. “I guess this means we shouldn’t see each other anymore.”

 

“For a while.” Margaery shrugged. “I won’t be with him forever, you know. And we can always text.”

 

“How long is a while? He’s  _ evil _ , Margie.”

 

Margaery examined her nails, dramatically thorough. “For as long as he’s useful. Shouldn't be all that long. I don't expect his movie will do well.”

 

It was so very  _ Margaery _ that Sansa had to laugh. “You’ll text?” Margie grinned. “Of course. And I expect that you will as well.” Her grin turned a little sharper. “I expect  _ details. _ I always wondered. He’s a big man, isn’t he?”

 

Sansa coughed, and buried her face in her hands, trying not to laugh. “I thought you said he was too rough.”

 

Margie laughed. “I said rough, not  _ too  _ rough. I just didn’t think he was your type.”

 

Sansa shook her head, still smiling. “I don’t think I have a type anymore.”

 

Margaery grinned. “Good. Life’s more fun that way.”

 

Sansa felt her smile fade. “I know I can’t convince you not to do this-” Margaery’s lips quirked, and she shook her head. “Just  _ please _ be careful. And promise you’ll text me.”

 

“I will. And I’ll see you, sometime.” With a final hug, she walked away. Sansa remained on the bench, and watched her reenter the gym. Even dressed down as she was, she cut an elegant figure. She’d always admired Margaery for her ability to twist circumstances to her favor, as well as for her aplum and her wit. She didn’t seem as though she could be broken. But Sansa thought Joffrey would try anyway.

 

She sat on the bench for a while, looking down at her hands. When she finally did rise, she headed for the bus station, but at a leisurely pace. She spent some time in a few shops, some familiar, some new to her. It was an interesting experience. The salespeople were still helpful, but didn’t stick to her today as they had always done before. She supposed she didn’t look like a rich girl today. Maybe she wasn’t a rich girl anymore. She felt her lips curve upwards. Sandor wouldn’t think so. He’d say that she’d  _ always _ be a posh little rich girl. He’d used to call her that, before they’d gotten to know each other. Sometimes he still did.

 

When she found herself back at the apartment, she slumped on the couch, breathing in the scent of the place. It smelled a little stale, like old coffee. It was already a comforting smell, like home.

 

Home.

 

They’d be coming, next week. They’d be seeing the apartment, meeting Sandor. Sansa wondered if he would mind her rearranging a bit. Everything was neat, as was his preference, but it still looked very much like a man’s apartment. Sansa’s own personality hadn’t really sunk in very much out here in the common area.

 

She was thinking about curtains, of  _ something _ to cover the bare windows, when Sandor came back. It was early; he must’ve come straight back after work. “It went alright, then?” He asked, glancing at her as he rummaged through the fridge.

 

“Yeah, it went fine. Don’t eat yet.” 

 

He glanced over at her, a package of sliced ham in his hand. “Why?”

 

“It’s the first of the month. My deposit came in. I thought we could go out. My treat.” 

 

His eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

 

So Sansa told him, relayed what Margaery had said. Sandor shook his head. “So you want to go out. Take pictures. Because he is?”

 

Sansa nodded. 

 

“You ever gonna get tired of that petty shit?”

 

She shook her head. “Not yet, I’m not.”

 

\----------

 

A few hours later had them pulling up to the White Tower. Sansa smoothed her skirt over her thighs. It was an old dress, and a favorite. She hadn’t worn it in months.

 

“We don’t have to go here, you know.” She looked over to see Sandor watching her.

 

“I told you, the money came in. I can afford it.”

 

“That’s not what I meant.” He was still looking at her, steadily.

 

She sat quiet for a moment. “I know. But I want to make more memories here. Better ones. And they have the best scallops around.”

 

Sandor was quiet as they slid out of the car, following closely behind her as they headed to the front. He’d refused to let the valet park his truck. Sansa wondered if he was nervous, in a place like this. But no, that couldn’t be it. He’d been to fancier places before, she knew that. He’d driven her home from some of them.

 

The hostess took a double take as they came in, and for a brief moment Sansa worried that Joffrey and Margaery were  _ here. _ But Margie wouldn’t stand for that, she knew that Joff had proposed to Sansa here. She decided, as they were led to a small table, that the staff must keep up on the goings on of their ‘high-profile’ guests. Sansa had been with Joffrey for two years, and they hadn’t exactly been quiet about it.

 

Sandor looked across the table at her, face deadpan. “Pictures?”

 

She shook her head. “Not yet.” The ice cream shop had been fun, spontaneous. She wanted that for tonight. She watched as Sandor flipped open the menu. He hissed under his breath.

 

“Who would pay  _ this much _ for food?”

 

Sansa opened her own menu, putting her nose high in the air. “This is my favorite restaurant.”

 

“I know.” She glanced at him over top of the menu, but he didn’t return her look, still scowling at the menu. 

 

She cleared her throat. “Just get whatever you want. Like I said, it’s on me.”

 

Their waitress came and went, taking their orders, and depositing the wine Sansa had asked for. After pouring for Sansa, the she had begun to do the same for Sandor, but he had refused. “Don’t you want any?”

 

“I’m driving, aren't I? Too sweet for me anyway.”

 

“Since when do you care? I thought it took a lot, for you.”

 

“It does. Now, are you going to take those fucking pictures or not?” The couple behind them turned, frowning at Sandor’s words and tone, but quickly turned back to their meals when he glared at them. He snickered under his breath.

 

“Do you like scaring people?”

 

“Some people. Everyone in here looks like a rich cunt.”

 

“Even me?” She leaned forward towards him, letting her hair slip over her shoulders.

 

“No little bird. Not you.” He sat back in his chair. “Now. Pictures? Before the food gets here? I want to see if it’s worth the price.”

 

Sansa sat back again, and took a small sip of wine. “Maybe I’ve changed my mind about those.”

 

He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe?”

 

She smiled against the rim of her glass. “Maybe. Maybe I just want tonight to be about us.”

 

The food arrived just then, and Sansa almost choked on her wine. She didn’t know what she would have said had the interruption not arrived, nor what she had been hoping Sandor would say. But the moment was gone.

 

Sandor turned out to be an entertaining dinner partner. He ate his food happily enough, though proclaiming it merely good. He refused point blank to admit that it was more than that, despite Sansa’s prodding. 

 

“That’s the best steak in town, you can’t tell me it’s just  _ good. _ ” She took a bite of her own meal too quickly, coughed, and felt juice dribbling down her chin. She dabbed at it with a napkin, Sandor’s eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched her.

 

“Oh!” She looked past him, at a table a few behind them. “That’s Loras Tyrell!”

 

Sandor looked as well, scowling as he saw him. “Joffrey’s new  _ fiance’s _ brother?”

 

Sansa swatted at his arm. “Margaery’s alright, I’ve told you. Besides, Loras is nice too. I used to have such a crush on him. Even after I met his husband.”

 

Sandor turned back to her. “Joff’s uncle, right?” Sansa nodded, and he snorted. “Looks like he’d break Tyrell in half.”

 

“He does  _ not _ . Loras is very strong. He fences, I’ve seen him.”

 

“He fences? What use is that? And  _ he’s _ strong?” Sandor crossed his arms over his chest, and Sansa couldn't help but see the obvious swells of muscle, even beneath the fabric of his shirt. She’d seen more than that, of course. Sandor used his weights daily, often only in a pair of sweatpants. The sight had been memorable.

 

“Yes. You’re stronger. Happy?” She tried to hide her blush behind a gulp of water, but didn’t think she was entirely successful. The corners of his mouth twitched.

 

“No. Maybe you should feel. Just to be sure.” He moved forward, moving his arm up as though to flex for her.

 

“ _ Sandor, _ ” She hissed, glancing around. “Not here.” He turned his flexed arm into a stretch, rubbing at the back of his neck with a hand. He looked smug, as he always did, to have gained the upper hand.

 

The overly happy-looking server came back once they’d finished, collecting their plates, and offering dessert. Sansa requested her favorite, and they were left alone again.

 

“D’you ever eat anything but lemoncake?” The small square had been brought along with the bill. Sansa had grabbed that quickly, before Sandor could see it.

 

“I eat lots of things. Strawberry ice cream, chocolate- it’s just that lemoncake is the best. Share?” She offered his one of the dainty forks that had come with it, but he scoffed at the utensil. 

 

“It’s too small for that.” He pulled a piece off with his fingers, crumbs falling to the table as he ate it. 

 

“Sandor! You can't eat it like that.” She shoved his reaching fingers away with the fork, pulling the plate towards herself. She used the edge of her fork to cut off a miniscule bite, spearing it on the fork with mock exactitude. He watched her eat for a moment, before moving his chair to her side of the table.

 

“I think it's best like this.”

 

He’d taken the last morsel in his fingers, and held it out to her, the familiar challenging spark in his eye.

 

She held his gaze as she took it gently between her teeth, closing her lips around the tips of his fingers. The wine had made her bold. In a moment of daring, she let her tongue flick out, brushing the pad of his thumb. His eyes were very dark, and he watched as she withdrew, chewing the last of her desert. Watched as she paid the bill. She could feel his eyes on her as she walked ahead of him, crossing the lot to his dark truck. It was a quiet ride back to the apartment- back  _ home, _ as it had become.

 

The kitchen felt overbright as they walked inside. Sansa blinked at the light, and fumbled for the light switch. In the ensuing darkness, they stood quiet for a moment, side by side.

 

“That was nice. That was more than nice. We should do that again, sometime.” In the ride home, most of the warmth of the wine in her belly had faded, and she almost wished for it now. She felt naked somehow, as though her dress was suddenly far too thin.

 

“Sometime.” His voice was quiet, and Sansa wondered if he was feeling as vulnerable as she. Abruptly, he made his way across the kitchen, disappearing into the darkness of his room. The door snapped closed behind him.

 

Sansa stood in the darkness for a long moment, feeling her heart pounding against her ribs. Taking a shuddering breath, she kicked off her heels, leaving them in the kitchen for the time being. In the confines of her room, she peeled off the dress, letting it pool on the floor. Once in the over-large shirt she habitually slept in, she wriggled under the covers, shutting her eyes.

 

Minutes ticked past. But it was no use. The shirt was too rough against her skin, the blankets too heavy. Kicking them off, she sat up against the wall, crossing her legs beneath her. She stared into the darkness, eyes straining. When she could just make out the outlines of her room, the silhouette of her sewing machine, she got to her feet.

 

She padded across the hall. The doorknob felt cold in her grasp, and she hesitated, curling her bare toes against the floor. Drawing herself up, she turned the knob and entered. 

 

He was still awake, as electrified, she hoped, as she herself was. He turned his head as she entered. While Sansa was glad of the darkness, she wished she could see his eyes, gather his mood. Sandor said nothing as she walked up to the edge of the bed, and kept his silence as she slipped under the covers beside him.

 

He slid his hand up over her hip, and she twined her fingers with his, breath coming quickly. She almost jumped when his voice came out of the darkness, breath ghosting across her face.

 

“You don’t have to.”

 

“I know I don’t have to.” She stretched towards him, towards where his voice had come. A hand planted on her shoulder, holding her back. But her did not remove his other hand from hers, his thumb rubbing small circles across her knuckles.

 

“You should-”

 

She pressed closer to him, shoving against his restraining hand. “I should have what I  _ want _ . I thought we agreed on that.”

 

His hand remained where it was for a moment, hard on her shoulder. Then, it slid behind her neck, drawing her in. His mouth was warm, as it pressed chastely against her’s. His chest hard against her hands. Then his hand slid lower on her hip, meeting the bare skin under the hem of her shirt. She gasped into his mouth, and felt him take a shuddering breath.

 

He kissed her then, really kissed her, tongue meeting hers, hand slipping along the edge of her panties. It was almost too much. But she wouldn’t stop. She  _ couldn’t _ .

 

She let her teeth graze the edge of his lip, along the edge of his scars. When she bit down slightly, he groaned into her mouth, and rolled over, dragging her beneath him. He was everywhere then, pressing hard against her, one hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her hip.

 

His lips moved from her mouth to her neck, and up to her ear. “Can I-”

 

“ _ Yes. _ Please.”

 

He pulled away from her for a moment, leaning across to his bedside table, groping in a drawer. She was surprised, and almost a little disappointed when he came back with a small bottle.

 

All thought flew from her head when he pressed himself against her bare leg, hot and hard through his soft sleep pants. She clutched at his shirt, pulling at it, but he made no move to remove it. His hand moved gently across the juncture of her thighs, and dipped underneath the cloth to touch her directly.

 

She was burning, was making small sounds in the back of her throat, was tangling her hands in his hair. But it wasn't enough, not by far.

 

“Take them  _ off. _ ” He complied, pulling them down her legs, and she kicked them the rest of the way off. She hesitated for a moment, realizing suddenly that they were really doing this. He rested his palm on her knee, waiting. He was still hard against her leg.

 

Swallowing, she pulled his hand up to touch her. She gasped, pressing her face into his shoulder as he touched her wetness, slid his fingers against her tender flesh.

 

Sandor rolled abruptly to his side, pulling Sansa along with him. The sheets tangled around their legs. She heard him open the bottle, and squirt something into his palm. Felt a hand grope between them, drawing her own hand between her thighs, his over hers.

 

“Show me.” His voice was horse in her ear, and he kissed her again, hard. She heard the rustle of fabric, felt his other arm begin to move rhythmically against her. She ran her tongue over her lps, and showed him. His hand moved with hers, and after a time, he pushed her hand aside all together. His face was buried in her neck, stubble rough against her skin. 

 

Sansa pushed her hands under the hem of his shirt, feeling the hard muscles there twitch under her fingers. She slid one hand down further- she could just reach. He was hot and hard, twitching in her hand when she touched him. He hissed between his teeth, and she could feel his hand pick up it’s pace between her legs. 

 

It was building up now- her hand had frozen on him, but he didn’t seem to care. She felt taught, stretched tight and straining. She rubbed her breasts against his chest, nipples hard and aching under her confining shirt. He slipped a finger inside of her, and the tension broke. She thought she was sobbing as she shook under his hands. Sansa was only vaguely aware of Sandor pushing her hand out of the way, of his arm moving almost frantically against her. She felt the spurt of warmth against her side, felt him tense and shudder against her.

 

In the panting aftermath, Sandor rested his head against her chest, mouthing at her breasts beneath the cloth of her shirt. Sansa squirmed a little uncomfortably, feeling drained and over-sensitive. She watched the shape of him as he sat up, and pulled the shirt off over his head. He swiped at her side with it, before wiping at his hands.

 

Moving in the dark room, he made his way to the dresser. Sansa felt a spark of interest as he pulled on a fresh pair of boxers, but she couldn’t really see. He climbed back in next to her, flipping the sheet up to cover them. He drew Sansa to him then, and she rested her head on his shoulder, face against the stubble at his neck.

 

“Was that alright?” Her voice sounded small, and uncertain.

 

He rested his chin on top of her head. “Better than alright.”

 

Sansa felt herself relax, although she hadn’t really known she’d been tense. “I didn’t get to see you.” Her voice was a bit muffled, speaking against his jaw.

 

He ran a hand down her hair, fingers grazing the skin at the nape of her neck. She shivered. “Tomorrow. I’ve got a day off.”

 

Sansa grinned against his neck. “Good.” Stretching up, she kissed him lazilly, running her fingers over his bare chest. “Did you want to flex for me now?” She felt his mouth curl up against hers, and he obliged her. She rested her cheek against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as she ran her fingers over his arm. “Impressive.”

 

“Better than that Tyrell prick?”

 

“Much.”

 

Sansa let her fingers play up his shoulder, and across his chest. “I was meaning to tell you. Tonight. I don’t think I’m going back to college. Not yet anyway.”

 

Sandor folded his arm behind his head, still lazily stroking her hair with the other. “Is it Joffrey? You know I can handle him.” Sansa could hear his jaw creak as he yawned.

 

“No.” She kissed the side of his neck, enjoying the way his breath caught. “I’ve just never had a job before. If I want to work in fashion one day, I should get some experience.”

 

“Makes sense.” Sansa felt him shift a little against her. “I wanted to tell _ you _ . When I was at the bar with Bronn the other night. He gave me the application. To the Academy. I applied. Mailed it, and all.”

 

She sat up, and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him soundly. “That’s wonderful! I know you’ll get in.” Sandor shrugged as she settled back down against him, but she thought he sounded pleased as he replied.

 

“Bronn knows Selmy. The old man who runs the place. He said he could introduce me, if I wanted.”

 

“You said yes didn’t you?”

 

“Yeah.” His arm tightened around her. “Sleep here, tonight? If you want to?”

 

Sansa smiled against his neck. “Of course I want to.”

 

Sandor reached over then, and pulled at her sleep shirt, rucking it up to her ribcage. He slid a hand beneath to cup her breast. She pushed into his touch, closing her eyes. Her voice came out in a quiet murmur. “I thought you’d want to do more than we did. Everything, I mean.”

 

“I do. Want to do everything. But we have time, don’t we?” She smiled at the feel of his voice rumbling through his chest.

 

“Yes. We do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... done! Yay! Knocked out a couple of firsts today. Never written a sex scene of any type before, and never finished anything I've written before. That's one of the many reason's I've begun writing here, to hold me accountable. Might write another fic to follow this one if I feel like it, but I like the idea of leaving it open ended.
> 
> As I said in the beginning, please, please, critique. Trying to improve writing style and technique.
> 
> If anyone's interested, I'm not above shameless self promotion. Am working on another fic with this pairing, much more in depth, and MUCH different setting: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15781203?view_full_work=true


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